


I Will Give You the World

by spn_j2fan



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bottom Jensen, M/M, Marking, Rimming, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:43:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spn_j2fan/pseuds/spn_j2fan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the late 1800's, Jensen is the ambitious second son of a wealthy French financier who is more than prepared to use all of his strengths to achieve his goals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Give You the World

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this lovely [prompt](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/58785.html?thread=16507553#t16507553) at [](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/)**spnkink_meme**
> 
> Jensen's last name is changed to fit with the "plot" of the story.

[ ](http://smg.beta.photobucket.com/user/Angelus2hot/media/NRFTW%20banners/winnersomethingwicked9spn_j2fan.jpg.html)

“Relax,” Jeff says, pulling a leg out from beneath the desk before him and dropping his booted foot on the blotter. He settles further into his high-backed leather chair. The ice in his glass has melted already, making a mess of the Hennessy he had so recently been enjoying, but he swirls it in the air anyway, mentally plotting out his evening as his lover paces back and forth before him. It is overly warm in the library, and he has not taken the time to draw back the heavy curtains or open the windows. He dare not do so now. “You are over-dressed.”

“I am unclothed, just as you requested in your cryptic telegram,” Jensen replies immediately, stopping in his pattern and turning sharply. “I did not anticipate being away from the university this weekend. I did not expect you to be in Connecticut.”

“But I am here, and you did leave. And you are not—” Jeff tilts his glass toward Jensen’s groin, where his eyes are now lingering on the younger man’s burgeoning erection. “Not nearly as _bare_ as I like you, or even as you have come to prefer yourself. What happened to the gift I sent you?”

“I-I brought it,” Jensen whispers, dropping his gaze as he feels the heat rushing to his face.

“Can I use it on you?” Jeff asks, the lust as evident in his tone as it is on his face. He sits forward, and lets his glass drop with a _thunk_ on the leather pad that covers the desk.

Jensen lifts his head once again. He has been away from Jeff for several months now, and it has taken him these few minutes together to recall just how much power he holds. He has plans for that power, so it is important to remember it, he reminds himself. He waits until his gaze captures the older man’s attention before answering. “I am not certain you have earned it. Not yet.”

Jensen thinks he hears Jeff growl, but he cannot be certain. The pounding on the door draws his attention, and he is forced to grab the clothing he shed only minutes earlier and head for the bathroom. As he closes the door behind him and locks it quickly, he leans his head sideways against it to hear the voices.

“Jeffrey! No work this weekend! Surely even you have to take a weekend off.” One guest at the hunting lodge says.

“You promised us a hunt, Mr. Morgan. Do not tell me a Morgan is not good to his word,” another guest baits.

All Jensen can hear in response is Jeff’s contagious laugh, followed by, “Oh, there will be hunting aplenty,” in Jeff’s distinctive gravelly tone.

Jensen turns, tapping his forehead lightly against the door. He rubs the palm of one hand against the coarse, light brown hair that he has let cover his groin since he last had the pleasure of Jeff’s company. This is going to be a long weekend.

###

The tables are set for the mid-hunt banquet, and the festivities are well underway when Jensen arrives to find his seat. All the guests are seated at tables according to the honors they achieved during the day’s hunt. All but those who are sitting upon the dais, Jensen included. How would it look if the prestigious son and heir of JP Morgan snubbed the artistic second son of Émile Péreire, one of France’s premier financiers? Morgan knew better than to do that, everyone gathered understood as much. That was how good connections were made, even if Jensen has his own way of making connections.

Jensen knows exactly what people think of him as he takes the two steps up to the elevated platform, where he will sit at the table above all the others. He is a thinker, an artist, a poet. He does not want to shoot a pig or a deer or even a turkey. It is not a matter of the fate of the animal or the difficulty of the task—Jensen is more than happy to reap the rewards of the hunt at banquet, and he is quite skilled at weaponry—he simply has no desire to spend his days with men who want to sweat and drink and boast of deeds they have not/cannot attain, and no desire to slap their shoulders when they fell a deer at fifty paces with a Remington or a Winchester. Anyone with an eye and a trigger finger can do that.

When they track her down and kill her with a dagger or a razor, return to the lodge covered in her blood, with her carcass across their backs, then let them boast. That is what Jensen says every time he meets Jeffrey for one of these weekends. And each time, JD reminds him that not everyone can write beautiful words, that some men have to win love with their brawn.

“You do not want that, do you?” Jensen remembered asking one day. He was already taking his seat at Jeffrey’s right side as the man’s response came back to him.

“I can kill my own pig,” Jeffrey had answered.

###

“You let it grow,” Jensen says the moment the door closes. “I like it when you let your beard grow just enough that it grazes against my skin.” He had waited in the dark to surprise Jeffrey, but lights a candle now that they are alone. He knows how he will look behind the light.

“Christ!” Jeff swears. “No one else ever surprises me. Not for a long time.”

“I guess I am good for something,” Jensen says. He places a bare foot on the edge of Jeff’s desk and pushes the chair away from it to reveal himself. “I have missed you.”

“Not that much. Look at you,” Jeff scowls, waving a hand in the general direction of Jensen’s body. “And all that…despite the gift I sent you.”

Jensen stands up, making his way around the desk slowly. He doesn’t see any reason to hurry, with Jeff still frozen in place close to the door. He leans back against the mahogany desk and spreads his legs. He lets one hand travel up along the trail toward his navel.

“It’s beautiful, your gift. I like it,” he admits. “I just wanted to wait.”

“For what?” Jeff gasps, reaching down to palm his own erection, slowly strangling within the constraints of the hunting pants he hadn’t bothered to shed earlier. He is regretting that decision now.

“It’s better like this,” Jensen purrs. He moves away from the desk to come closer to Jeff. “I like how it feels when it is fresh and new.”

Jeff stands still, waiting to see what his lover will say or do next. It’s all up to Jensen at this point, it always is.

Jensen puts a hand against Jeff’s furred cheek, rubbing it lovingly. “You didn’t, did you?” He whispers close to Jeff’s ear.

“Never!” Jeff hisses. “I know what you like.”

The younger man takes a step back. “Show me.”

Jeff hurries to unlace his breeches. They are too tight now, anyway, and loosening them will be a relief. As he reveals his erection, and the thick bush at its base, Jensen comes closer again, reaching a hand down to rake his fingers through it.

“I love how you feel!” Jensen growls. “Needed to wait for this.”

“Why?” Jeff asks.

“It just feels so much better…fresh.”

“So, can I?” Jeff asks.

Jensen pauses for a minute, thinking. “I haven’t decided.”

“I bought it,” Jeff argues.

“You did,” Jensen agrees. “And it is beautiful. But if you remind me again, you will never see it.”

“No! Okay.” Jeff soothes, holding his hands out. “No more reminding. Then…what do you want?”

“Me?” Jensen smirks. “I am just a second son, in your country to study poetry. What would I want?”

“Baby, you want the world.” Jeff says, breaking away just long enough to regain his composure. He is at the bar before he speaks again. “Hennessy?”

“Your drink, not mine,” Jensen turns toward him. “Do you have any Dom?”

“Always,” Jeff says, moving to the icebox where the champagne is being chilled. “You know I always plan for you.”

“Do you?” Jensen says, closing in on the older man. He runs a hand up Jeff’s chest. The ties of Jeff’s tunic are loosened, and Jensen is tugging gently at the hairs beneath. “I am not all poetry, you know.”

“I do know,” Jeff agrees. “You hide all that you are so well from the world. I hope that you do not want to hide it from me.”

“I do not,” Jensen says, “But I will if I must. What will you give me for the feel of your gift against my skin?”

“All of your skin?” Jeff asks.

“All of it. Part at my hand, and part at yours.”

“Do I choose which parts?” Jeff asks.

“Is that what your favor will require?”

“I would hope that you like the feel of my hands upon you,” Jeff says. “You have appreciated them before.”

Jensen laughs. “I do. I do. Never doubt that. But I need a promise now.” He leans in close, rubbing his chest, with its sparse, golden hair, against Jeff’s furry one. “What will you give me to strip me as bare as you like?”

Jeff tilts his head back, leans forward, delving deeply into the pleasure afforded him by the body against his. “Anything,” he hisses. “What do you want?”

“The du Ponts.”

###

Jensen requests that the water be drained from the claw-foot tub three times before he is certain that the lavender aroma is gone. Why would the servants choose such a scent for Jeff’s rooms? There is nothing about this night that Jensen wants to equate with lavender, or even rose, a much more lively aroma. No, tonight is more about sage, or perhaps bergamot and lemon, if he has the energy to concoct that fragrance. He has done it before, and knows that Jeff likes it. Or maybe tonight should be a more woodsy/musky scent, reminding Jeffrey of all the work he put into the hunt this weekend.

Not the wild hunt, Jensen smiles, breathing the steam in deeply as the first boiling pot is dumped in, just to be certain that no flowery fragrance remains. No, Jeff’s hunt had been a much more difficult and profitable one, at least as far as Jensen is concerned. That gives him an idea, one he is certain that Jeff will like, that Jeff deserves.

Satisfied, he returns to the counter where he placed his bag earlier. Everything he needs now, and later, is in it. He pulls out the various ampoules, and adds just enough of three viscous solutions to the water to create the aroma he wants. It is mild now, barely noticeable, but it will grow stronger as more steaming water is added to the concoction.

He stands up and rubs a hand across his groin. Should he take his scissors out? Trim it just a little? No, he decides. There isn’t that much, and Jeff has definitely earned the pleasure.

###

 

“I remember this,” Jeff growls, taking in a deep, deliberate inhalation. “But there is something else…”

“On the Côte d'Azur. It was just a small manor house on the outskirts of Nice, where we spent out first time together,” Jensen says.

“And you made it a night of bay rum and mint,” Jeff finishes, closing in on Jensen and reaching an arm around the younger man’s waist. “You promised to do it again for me, to make it more memorable. And it is, I can tell.”

“What is it?” Jensen prompts. He has already replaced the phials in his bag, so if Jeffrey names the third ingredient in his blend, it will truly be a guess.  
Jeff takes another deep breath, leaning over the tub. “It is confusing, masked by the other scents.”

“It is, and there is less of it,” Jensen agrees.

“Does it matter if I get it right?” Jeff asks.

“Not at all,” Jensen grins. “You have earned your reward, and I would be disappointed not to give it to you.”

“So…do you want me to guess?” Jeff ventures.

“Always.”

“Hmmm…pepper?”

Jensen frowns. Not even close.

“No,” Jeff dismisses without looking up. He shakes his head, scraping his scruffy beard back and forth against his lover’s bare shoulder. He can feel the tremor beneath the younger man’s skin and smirks, “Um…Jensen. I am not going to guess it. You know that, don’t you?”

Jensen hisses, composes himself. “No, you are not. I suspect the aroma of gunpowder does not often weave its way into the inner workings of the Morgan Empire. And when it does, I would suspect the results are unwelcome.”

“Gunpowder?” Jeff asks. He is not so much upset as he is startled. Again, Jensen has surprised him. “How did you get the essence of gunpowder into your bath? And why?”

Jensen drops to his knees before his lover, leaning forward to nuzzle at Jeff’s groin. “I love this. I love you,” he whispers, and Jeff has to quell his panting breaths to hear the rest. “But today you gave this mere second son both Lammot and Pierre Samuel du Pont.” He feathers a finger along Jeff’s cloth-covered length, and waits for the groan to pass before he continues. “Today, you fueled my war.”

“Upon whom?” Jeff asks, his head falling forward, trying to keep his eyes open. To focus. Trying not to miss a moment of this sensation.

“My brother,” Jensen says. He has never mentioned Henri before, so he does not expect much reaction from Jeffrey now. “He has never deserved what has been handed to him, he has only squandered it. I aim to do differently, to make certain that my father’s accomplishments will not be forgotten in time.”

“And you would use JD Morgan to accomplish it,” Jeff surmises, still staring down upon his lover.

“If he allows it, I will,” Jensen says, his words muffled as he again nuzzles at Jeff’s groin. “But that is not all that I require of him.”

“No? And what more does the poetry student from Yale University require?” Jeff husks.

Jensen dips his head low, takes a breath, and lifts it again to meet his lover’s eyes. “I believe I am over-dressed.”

“You are nude,” Jeff grumbles, staring down and pressing his hips forward. It seems to be a play on their conversation from the opening evening of the hunt, and if so, Jeffrey is not willing to spoil it with an ill-timed response.

He can play the game to get his prize.

“Not as naked as you prefer me, nor as bare as I have come to appreciate myself,” Jensen replies, pausing just long enough to rub his cheek against Jeff’s erection.

“Hmm,” Jeff agrees, reaching a hand down to caress the fine hairs that surround one tan nipple. “So you are over-dressed, but I see that you have saved this for me. Is it my treat? Have you deprived yourself to gift it to me?”

“I do not deny that I would have done it sooner, had your telegram not arrived,” Jensen admits, “But it is not only your dessert, it is mine as well.”

Jeffrey backs away. “Then get in,” he rumbles. “Cool water will not benefit.”

As close as he is, Jensen does not bother to rise, instead turning in place and moving—hands and knees working in sync—the few steps it takes to get to the tub. Steam still rises, and he smiles as he lifts a leg over, slowly slipping in without a splash.

“Like this?”

“Just like that,” Jeff agrees, shaking his head to tear himself away from the sight. He lets his gaze dart around the room for a moment. “I do not see it. Where is my gift?”

“In my bag,” Jensen says, leaning back against the warmed brass and porcelain and closing his eyes. His arms lift out of the water to dissipate some of the heat, and he rests them on the rim, torrents of water splashing out along each side and dripping down the polished outer finish. He ducks down just enough to make sure the hollows under his arms are below the water’s surface. A good, hot soak always helps.

Jeff looks at him again, and then crosses to the table where the bag is resting. “Put your arms in, they will need it,” he says without turning.

“My arms?” Jensen questions.

Jeff quirks a brow, not bothering to face his lover when he says, “I gave you _two_ du Ponts.”

He grins wickedly when he hears Jensen’s _hiss_ and the water’s _splash_.

Jeff is used to Jensen’s travel bag, so he knows just where to search, and smiles as he touches the smooth scales. His little finger catches on the tang, and his other fingers wrap around the rest. He pulls it out, looking forward to his first look at the gift since he purchased it and sent it across two oceans and two continents months ago.

He frowns, turning for the first time since Jensen plopped into the tub to face his younger lover. “What is this? I gave this to you over a year ago, after my time in India.”

He caresses the ivory scales, and carefully opens it to reveal the glistening razor hidden within. It has been honed and stropped recently. Very recently, Jeff guesses.

Jensen looks up, a grin playing at his lips, and the beginnings of a crinkle forming at the edge of each of his mischievous eyes. “Look at me,” he says, gesturing with one dripping hand along the length of his body. “Do you truly believe you can take care of all of me with just the one?”

Jeff follows the path of Jensen’s hand along his body, and then jerks his head up to meet his lover’s eyes again at those last words. “So it is here?” He growls.

“In the bag,” Jensen’s voice drops to just a whisper. “Look deeper.”

Jeffrey stops his gentle search, and instead resorts to upending the bag and dumping its contents onto the tabletop.

“Careful,” Jensen warns. “It is fragile.”

But Jeff is too busy sorting through silk scarves and feathers, tiny clamps and fine chains, and accouterments for Jensen’s ass that Jeff does not understand the necessity of—what can replace a thick, hard cock, after all?—to pay much attention to Jensen’s warning. So it is fortunate that the razor tumbles out of the bag onto a soft pile of silk scarves rather than the solid wood surface.

He grabs it before it can tumble farther, endangering the precious scales he had wrapped so carefully to preserve in its travels. And there it is, even more beautiful than he remembered. Perhaps that’s due to its proximity to his lover’s skin.

“My second day on the Falklands, I saw this,” he says, pressing lightly on the tang to reveal the blade and running a finger of the other hand down the solid spine. He dare not touch the blade, and even though he can see the sharp edge glinting in the candlelight, he cannot resist testing it. Plucking a single hair from his head, he lays it softly across the upturned blade and watches as it splits in two instantly, one half falling to each side. “Damascus steel. It was the only one of its kind there. The only one I have ever seen.”

“I’ve seen one before,” Jensen murmurs, “But your gift is the first that I have ever held. I was afraid to hone it. It took me a month to try.” A small laugh follows, and Jeff can hear the water churn as the younger man swirls it around with his hands. “And the scales…”

Jeff smirks, the reverence in Jensen’s voice is exactly how he had heard it in his mind when he laid out his money and sent the gift on its journey. “Mother of Pearl,” he explains. “They say it is very delicate, that only the best can handle it.”

“Show me,” Jensen whispers.

Holding it reverently in one hand, the older but still coveted ivory razor in the other, Jeffrey strides back to his lover’s side, kneeling down and rubbing the flat of the blade against Jensen’s smooth cheek when he arrives.

“You already started,” he says, twisting his knuckles just enough to see if he can feel any roughness that the spine missed. Nothing. “I thought you saved it for me.”

Jensen grins, reaching a hand up to aid in Jeffrey’s endeavor. “All here would have questioned my sudden scruffy appearance. I may only be a second son, but I am still Émile Péreire’s son." Slowly, he moves his lover’s hand lower, savoring the feel of the steel spine against his skin. It doesn’t bite or scrape, the dull backside of the blade merely cools his heated skin and offers promises of what is to come.

He waits to speak again until the point of the blade is perilously close to his nipple. “I did say that part would be at my hand and part at yours,” he says, pushing Jeffrey’s hand just a tiny bit more firmly against his skin. “But I saved all the best of me, for you.”

Jeffrey groans again. The weekend has led to this, and all the other guests have departed. He would like nothing better than to dip the steel in the warm water and begin his task. But he cannot. Oh, Jensen would trust him to do so, but this undertaking is as important a mission as any he has ever encountered, and he refuses to discount Jensen’s trust in him. With that thought, he rises back to his feet and returns to the table for the strop and the cup: Two musts if he is going to enjoy the results of his efforts.

He knows from experience that Jensen will benefit either way, but if done incorrectly, the aftermath will be all succor and no play. And with that in mind, he pulls the leather strop out and strokes the new blade along it. Twenty times should be sufficient.

“Mmmm,” Jensen moans. “You do that better than anyone.”

“You’ve seen others do this?” Jeff asks.

“I’ve had a shave, Jeff,” Jensen says. His tone is flat, almost a sneer. Something Jeffrey isn’t used to.

“Ah, so you would compare me to your barber?” He grins, hoping to encourage his lover’s banter. No one provokes Jeffrey like Jensen does. He drops the strop and returns to the tub, cup in hand.

“No,” Jensen says, trying to suppress a grin. “You cannot cut my hair.”

“How do you know?” Jeff growls. He adds just a touch of Jensen’s bath water—from right between his legs—to his cup and begins to churn the soap into a thick lather. He nearly groans again at how easily Jensen spreads his legs to give him access. “I might give you an excellent trim.”

Jensen laughs heartily and the water begins sloshing out. Jeff sits back on his heels to avoid the worst of it.

“Strip?” Jensen begs, reaching up with a dripping, trembling hand to caress Jeff’s rough cheek. “Please. You know how much I like the feel of you against me.”

Jeff sets the cup on the ground. How can he refuse such a request? In less then a minute, he is as bare as Jensen was before he was hidden beneath the water.

“Thank you,” Jensen sighs, and he leans back against the tub, closing his eyes. His legs fall apart until his knees touch each side, feet gliding forward until porcelain stops them, and his arms drop below the surface again.

This is the time Jeffrey likes the best. He anticipates it. The moment Jensen finally lets go. Most people think Jensen is without care, political aspiration, or as some term it, “real-world concern.” But Jeff knows different, he has spent years learning just how different Jensen is. And he has spent those same years learning just when the time is right.

He leans forward and whispers, “Where first?”

Jensen’s head bobs slightly from side to side. “Mmm…Everything?”

“Everything,” Jeff affirms.

Jensen holds out an arm without opening his eyes.

Jeffrey lathers it up just enough for the blade to glide smoothly. The soft, golden hair will not put up much resistance, so this should be easy. He places the new blade against Jensen’s forearm and presses down evenly.

He stops midstroke as Jensen tenses and his eyes fly open. A gasped breath drawing in.

“The old. The old blade,” Jensen says, shaking his head. “Save the new one for the most sensitive areas.”

Jeff leans back, pauses. “You want me to use a blade I have never used before, on your most sensitive areas? Would it not be best if I practice elsewhere first?

Jensen leans back, again closing his eyes. “Trust you,” he murmurs, reaching a hand up to rub against Jeff’s chest. “Want it to be sharp when you cut me.”

“Damn!” Jeff swears. But he picks up the older blade and begins scraping the hair from Jensen’s arms. It is a good feeling, made better by the soft hisses and moans escaping his lover’s mouth.

He lifts Jensen’s left arm and bends it to tuck the hand behind his head. It draws the skin tight in the hollow, and offers Jeff the best access. He adds just a touch more water to his brush, warming the lather more than actually increasing it, and rubs it into the coarse hair awaiting his blade. There isn’t much there, so with only a few strokes of the blade, Jeff finishes one side, and repositions his pliant lover to finish the other.

Now Jensen’s arms lie completely smooth and bare before him. He has to reach a hand down to touch himself before he can continue. Jensen doesn’t do the same, but Jeffrey can see his hips undulating gently beneath the water, creating soft, rhythmic waves. Now it is time to move on.

He doesn’t ask anymore, not yet at least. Jeff simply lifts one leg out of the water and places it on the edge. He can feel the water cooling already, and tries to rush his task. No need to tarry too long in the tub and risk Jensen’s health. He lathers quickly and runs the blade unerringly along one leg, stopping mid-thigh, before he places it carefully in the tub and repeats the same steps with the other. This time though, in his haste, he angles the blade just off enough at the knee to nick the skin behind that precious joint. He hisses, but Jensen doesn’t. His head is as relaxed against the back of the tub as it was when Jeff began, and his hips are still moving as they were before, faster even.

He dries the razor carefully on a cloth, sets it aside, and reaches for the new one. “Jensen, look at me baby,” he says. He keeps his voice low, but tries to add just enough severity so that Jensen will hear him, and listen. When those big, green eyes flutter open and finally focus on him, just enough cloudiness left to remind him that this is exactly where Jensen wants to be, Jeff continues, “Mmmm…was gonna finish your chest in the tub, but it’s getting too cold. I wanna wrap you in a warm towel, dry you off, and finish on the bed. Can you stand?”

Jensen shakes his head, attempting to clear it, but Jeff stops him. “No. Stay where you are,” he whispers close to his lover’s ear. Jeff is not referring to Jensen’s physical location. “I can do the rest.” He knows his words sink in when Jensen drops back into the water. Now it is up to him to prepare for the rest of the night, just as they both prefer.

He strops the new blade in a dozen quick swipes. It looked fine before, but Jeff is fastidious, and when it comes to his lover’s exquisite body, he is even more meticulous. Then he sets it and the cup on the table beside the bed. Two hand towels remain in a pot of hot water, and Jeff decides to leave them within, even as he brings the pot itself closer to the bed.

The duvet is plush. Soft enough to keep Jensen comfortable, and plenty thick to protect the bedding beneath from the moisture and the soap, so he chooses not to add another layer of cloth.

He glances back at his lover quickly before allowing his eyes to sweep across his scene once more. Something is missing—ahhh! He is back at Jensen’s bag in three strides, all those phials are packed neatly into one large, padded packet, so it takes him a couple of minutes to identify the one he wants: olive oil. Jensen will appreciate that, even if he is not aware of it until tomorrow. That is part of Jeff’s responsibility, after all.

“I’m ready for you,” he whispers into Jensen’s ear. It isn’t necessary, Jensen will go along with him, wherever he leads, but it is Jeffrey’s way of bringing his younger lover just a little closer to the surface. He keeps the towel tucked under his chin, and wriggles his arms beneath Jensen’s shoulders from behind, wrapping them around his chest. That is enough to get his cooperation, and Jensen rises lazily to his feet, he head lolling back to rest on Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff stands taller to support it.

“That’s it, baby,” Jeff encourages. “Lift your leg out. Perfect. Now the other one.” And as soon as Jensen has followed his instructions, he uses one of his arms to wrap the first half of the heated towel around the younger man and hold him in place. Then he uses the other hand to bring the other half around, completely enveloping his lover. It is only a dozen steps to the bed, and Jeff guides him there effortlessly.

“I will always take care of you,” he whispers as he lays Jensen down, peeling back the two halves of the towel and revealing the naked body beneath. Jeffrey's voice is grit, with the occasional inflection he remembers hearing in his father’s words. He wasn’t born in England, he is an American man, through and through, but at times, when emotion overtakes him, he can hear his father in his voice.

Jensen reaches a hand up to rub against Jeff’s chest in response, his eyes half-lidded and his lips trying to form something—a word, a kiss, Jeff can’t tell which.

He waits for a moment to see if Jensen will say something, but when Jensen tugs gently at the hair on Jeff’s chest and nods his head slightly, Jeff puts a hand on those beautiful, smooth thighs, spreads them, and takes his place between his lover’s legs.

He uses little lather on Jensen’s chest, just enough to allow the blade to glide smoothly, but not enough to mask the tiny nubs and endanger them. Even on that broad expanse, there is a bit of danger, and that in itself is part of the allure. That, and the feel of silky skin against his own when he is done. And Jensen.

He works toward each tan nipple first, holding the skin taut as he removes that golden down. And when he completes his first pass, he lathers it again, and scrapes from those lovely nipples out, to ensure the closest shave. Jensen will enjoy the feel of it.

“Mmmm,” Jensen moans, reaching a hand up as Jeff wipes away the last of the lather with a warm hand towel.

“You like?” Jeff asks, trying to keep his voice low. It is hard, watching Jensen rub a hand along his smooth chest.

“God, Jeff!” Jensen moans. It is the most he has said since they began, and Jeffrey leans in to hear more. Instead, Jensen simply spreads his legs farther apart, and thrusts his hips into the air, searching for something.

“Not yet,” Jeff whispers, leaning down to brush his lips against the younger man’s ear before pulling back again. “You are still over-dressed.” He makes the point by running fingers through the golden curls that cover Jensen’s groin.

Jeff growls. It is an eyesore. A mockery. Even at a mere half-inch in length, it is too much. Nothing should mask those lovely orbs from his touch or the base of that cock from his sight. They are his to rub against, coax to life, his to tease and torment in whatever way he chooses, and his to offer sweet, succulent release.

And now they are his to strip bare.

“Wider,” he says, grabbing the cup and taking his frustration out on the lather within. It is better placed there. He smiles as Jensen complies.

The upper thighs—the parts Jeff missed in the tub—are easy. Jeff draws the skin taut with a thumb, and scrapes the razor across it in smooth, even lines, using the warm water in the pot to rinse both the blade and the bared skin in his wake.

Jensen’s cock is already so warm and swollen in his grip, but Jeff cannot take the time to appreciate the feel of the newly denuded flesh. He grabs that gorgeous, pulsing erection, grimacing as he gently guides it down, and groaning when he hears a similar sound coming from Jensen.

“Shhh,” he says, “Sorry, baby. Got to.” And he brushes the thick lather into the triangle above his lover’s still swelling cock as quickly as he can. Jensen’s hips have never stopped moving, and the rhythm is creating a corresponding motion in Jeff’s own, but it isn’t affecting Jeff’s razor strokes, not yet.

It only takes a handful of passes to reveal the flesh there, and Jeff lets Jensen’s cock spring back with an audible _hiss_.

“ _S’il te plaît_ ,” Jensen moans.

“Stop!” Jeff says. He places the blade on the table beside the bed and jostles that freckled chin just enough to get Jensen to open his eyes. “Don’t,” He warns, grabbing his lover by the balls with his other hand.

“Jeff?” Jensen asks. He sits up on his elbows, trying to draw his legs in to protect himself, but his effort is thwarted by his lover’s presence.

“Don’t,” Jeffrey repeats. He loosens his grip and rubs soothingly along the treasured flesh. Almost an apology. He leans close again, his beard scraping against Jensen’s cheek, and whispers, “You know what your French does to me. I need to be in control when I have your sac in my hands, I would think you would appreciate that.”

Green eyes blink.

Twice.

"Please.”

“God!” Jeff swears, dropping back down between Jensen’s legs and reaching for the razor. “Your words are not much safer in English. “Lay back.”

Jensen acquiesces at once, letting his elbows slip out from beneath him and dropping back against the linens with a seductive quality that, in anyone else, Jeff would have taken as practiced. But as his lover nestles into the thick duvet, running splayed fingers across the silken fabric, moaning and shifting in position until his feet are planted firmly in the fabric and his knees are falling apart, putting everything, even his hole on display, Jeff finds himself in a different world. This is Jensen’s world. Where Jensen gives commands with his moans and the tilt of his head. Where his body tells Jeff exactly what he needs to know. Where his gently thrusting hips force Jeff to abandon his tasks—even if only momentarily—and demand that he focus on one thing: His lover. His Jensen.

He is a wealthy man. Powerful. It takes a few breaths to remind himself of that. JD Morgan can do anything. He is his father’s son, after all. And while he would never attempt to use that power and strength to abuse his lover, he will use it to protect the younger man. There are moments when patience is his greatest asset.

He doesn’t abandon the razor this time, but choses to run his empty hand along Jensen’s bare chest. So smooth. Small, round nipples stand out, stand up—peeked and surrounded by tan, stippled circles. The flesh is still cool from the relentless flow of air across stripped and dampened skin. Part of him wants to shutter the windows, cover his lover, warm him and keep him safe. But the rest of him knows Jeffrey Morgan much more profoundly.

“Do not move,” He commands, pushing against one bare thigh, and reaching for the shaving cup with the other. “Your treasures are too precious to lose. Do you need help?”

He keeps silk scarves close by just for this purpose. Jensen isn’t always so deep, but when he is, Jeff would rather offer the assistance of bondage than risk injuring his lover.

“ _Je peux tenir encore_ ,” Jensen says, his voice heavy, slurring with lust.

Jeff groans, pushing insistently down on Jensen’s hip. His lover means it when he says he can hold still, but whether or not Jensen can actually do so, Jeff hasn’t yet determined.

“ _Montrez-moi_ ,” Jeff orders, moving up the length of the younger man’s body to whisper in his ear. “ _Le prouver, mon amour_!”

Jensen’s movements cease, but that isn’t enough for Jeffrey. Yes, he asked Jensen to hold still, but he also asked him to prove that he can remain so. With those lovely hips now motionless, and those gorgeous legs spread wide, Jeff runs the spine of the razor across Jensen’s sac to see what response he gets.

Nothing.

“Can you stay this way?” He groans. “Can you remain in place while I pull your skin tight and scrape your sac bare?”

Jensen’s eyes flutter open, hips remaining still. His fingers are no longer splayed, but clutching at the silken duvet. “ _Oui_ ,” he whispers.

That is all Jeff needs to hear, and he slathers the shaving soap over both orbs, appreciating Jensen’s sharp inhale as he does.

He grins as he pulls the skin taut and flips the razor in his hand so that the sharpened edge lies against the ribbed flesh of his lover’s bollocks.

“ _Ne se déplacent pas_!” He demands, still keeping his voice low. His French is no match for his lover’s, but in this moment, the familiar words are more likely to filter through the haze, and gain Jensen’s attention. As he takes his first stroke, basks in the sounds flowing through Jensen’s lips on a soft exhale, and dips the blade into the pot to rinse it, he pushes down upon one lovely, freckled hip. A silent reminder of the words he has just spoken: Do not move.

After each stroke, Jeff wipes the lather and the hair on a dry towel, sinking the blade into the pot only to warm it before placing it against his lover’s flesh once more.

This is delicate work, and he prepares himself appropriately, scooting down and finding a comfortable position between Jensen’s legs, only leaning forward between strokes to freshen his blade in the pot of warm water beside them.

Each pass is followed by a _scrape_ , a _swish_ , and a _moan_ , only the last coming from his lover, and that is the sound Jeff most appreciates. It has been too long. Jeff pushes his hips into the irresistible friction offered by the bedding below him, and stops abruptly. He can’t. Not now. He has to remain focused. So he draws back up onto his knees, and _swishes_ the blade in the warm water again before lifting that sac and drawing the skin tight enough that he can pass the razor along the underside without harm.

“Mmmmhhh,” Jensen moans.

Jeff grins. Success.

After a dozen more passes, Jensen’s hips start moving again, and Jeff has to set the razor aside to put pressure on them with both hands. When Jensen opens an eye, Jeff pats one flank with an open hand to remind his lover to hold still before reaching for the warm cloth. It is good timing though, he’s shaved Jensen’s sac smooth, and he runs the cloth over his precious treasure to rid it of excess lather and hair. And then allows his fingertips to skitter across the newly bared flesh, checking for any areas he might have missed. None.

“ _Baise-moi_ ,” Jensen moans, his eyes flutter closed again and his feet slide farther apart as his hips tilt up invitingly.

These are the moments Jeff regrets his French lessons. Or maybe he doesn’t. “I will,” he says, leaning down and licking a strip along Jensen’s neck. He growls as his lover turns his head to make even that flesh more available to him. Jeff rubs a hand along the base of the younger man’s cock, where the last of his coarse curls still remain. “I will fuck you, but not yet. You wouldn’t appreciate it yet.”

Jeffrey reaches for the cup again and dips two fingers into it. Not the best of lubricants, but as hard as Jensen already is, it will suffice. He wraps his hand around Jensen, and strokes hard and fast enough to make his lover pant and moan.

“Jeff?” Jensen pleads. His breaths are short, his back flexes repeatedly to match the rhythm of Jeff’s hand, and his eyes are closed. “ _Baise-moi_.”

“Soon,” Jeff assures him, setting the shaving cup aside and taking up the razor again. He holds Jensen’s cock firmly against his abdomen, and ducks his head to hide his grin when Jensen groans in response.

“Shh. You know I had to get you hard for this part. It’s safer that way,” Jeff says, slathering the soap along the base of the other man’s shaft and following it with a firm stroke of the steel blade.

“Ahhh!” Jensen cries out. His hips rise just as the razor lifts from his skin, as if trying to recapture a lover’s caress.

Jeffrey pushes him down and holds him firmly. “Hold still,” he says. He taps the cool, solid spine of the razor against Jensen’s overheated flesh as a reminder that it offers not only the gift of sensuality, but lethality as well. “If you cannot, tell me now!”

Jensen goes rigid. Even his breaths do not move his chest. That is answer enough for Jeff, and he continues his task, pulling Jensen’s cock to the left so that the skin is taut, and the razor can pass smoothly across it.

It is a battle, the sounds Jensen makes, the movements he takes, versus Jeff’s ability to remain focused on his task. But he is a good man, an excellent lover, and he grins, resisting the desire to reach down and stroke himself before he wipes away the last of the lather from Jensen’s shaft. They are almost done.

He leans up to whisper in his lover’s ear. “Turn over.”

“ _Baise-moi_ ,” Jensen repeats. His eyes remain closed and his head tilts lazily from side to side.

“I will, but you are not yet ready,” Jeff says. He slaps at one hip and repeats his command in his best French. “ _Se retourner_.”

Jensen’s eyes open. “ _Embrasse-moi_.”

That is a request Jeff will gladly fulfill. He leans forward to capture his lover’s lips in a tender kiss. He nibbles at the full lower one before thrusting within to taste the sweet mix of champagne and Jensen, and then taps the younger man on the hip again. “ _Se retourner_ ,” he repeats.

This time Jensen sighs and turns, spreading his legs and lifting his hips to oblige the pillow Jeff is pushing beneath them. It is almost done.

The pillow spreads him out gloriously, each denuded orb within easy reach and Jensen’s crease slightly parted. Not enough space to shave, but enough to lather without risking the further enticement of his lover.

Jeff grins. That really isn’t his concern at the moment. The razor is not in his hand, a silk scarf is. He allows the corner to slither along the inner part of one thigh, drooping it low so that the entire width of it rubs back and forth before lifting it high enough again that just the corner touches Jensen’s sensitive sac.

“ _Dieu_ , Jeff!” Jensen hisses, his hips rubbing against the pillow, seeking friction, his ass clenching.

“Feels good, doesn’t it,” Jeff says. He chuckles, low and rough, but doesn’t abandon his teasing. The silk flitters in a circular path around one sensitive globe before trailing back down his thigh and crossing to begin its assent on the other side. “Mmmm, the silk against your smooth skin, it makes you crazy. Look at you, thrusting against that cushion like a lover. Imagine how you will feel when it is my hand, my cheek, my tongue—“

“ _Ta langue_!” Jensen says, his voice a loud, mournful cry. His hips thrusting in abandon now. “ _Ta langue, mon amour, s’il te plaît_!”

Jeff presses both hands against the younger man’s hips, stilling him. “God, you beg so pretty. Hold still for me now, and I will give you all that you ask for.”

Jensen takes loud, gasping breaths, drawing up on his elbows, and putting all his effort into holding his hips in place. After a moment or two, he drops down again and spreads wider, signaling his readiness to continue.

Lathering is easy, if Jeff forces himself to ignore the lovely sounds his lover makes. Jensen is relaxed, pliant again, simply waiting for what comes next. It only takes a moment to coat the crease and set the brush aside. Now is not the time to play and tease, to draw this out, his lover has waited long enough, they both have.

Jeff grabs the pearl handle and opens the blade one last time. This is delicate work, and Jeff gets in close. He uses his left hand to pull Jensen’s left check away from his crease, exposing as much flesh as he can. With his right forearm, he pulls the other globe slightly to the side. Perfect. Jeff smiles as he makes his first pass, and Jensen moans but holds his position flawlessly. These are short strokes, in a careful pattern that Jeff is meticulous about, one miss could ruin their night.

Before moving on to the other side, Jeff wipes the skin clean and runs his fingers across it, checking for any missed areas. Nothing. And Jensen’s appreciative groan is enough to make him move on. He wraps his left arm up and around his lover’s gorgeous ass and pulls the skin taut just as he had done on the other side. The position should be more difficult, but it isn’t, Jeff has had enough practice to get it right.

He sets the razor aside and picks up the warm cloth again. That seems to be the signal for Jensen, and his hips begin to undulate very softly again, as if in anticipation of something.

This time when Jeff finishes wiping away the soap and the debris, instead of running his fingertips across the smooth crease, he leans down, spreading both globes with his hands, and licking a path from Jensen’s balls to the top of his crease.

“Perfect,” He whispers against Jensen’s skin, but he is certain his lover missed his words, masked by the sound of his own wail.

He doesn’t wait for Jensen’s head to settle back into the duvet, or for his howl to come to a stop. He does not wait for Jensen’s fists to unfurl, or for his muscles to loosen, instead, Jeff turns his hands, fingers grasping each delectable globe, and thumbs prying them apart to reveal his enticing pucker.

Jeff dips down then, rubbing his cheeks along the bared skin on either side of his lover’s hole, flicking his tongue out temptingly, and like magic, everything stops. Or relaxes, to be more precise.

He spreads Jensen further, now that he is more pliable, and rubs his cheek along that smooth crease again, chuckling as the younger man’s hips cant up invitingly, and his legs spread even wider.

“Yes, baby,” Jeff says as he leans in, licks teasingly around the rim and hums. Jensen moans low, rocking his hips from side to side.

That’s…unanticipated. Jeff would have expected his lover to press back into his teasing tongue, to seek out more of the warm, moist pressure. To search for more of the stimulation focused on his sensitive rim that Jeff has so shamelessly capitalized upon in the past. Not to shift his weight from side to side, seeking out something new, something different. Jeffrey pulls away just enough to assess his lover’s response.

“ _Non_!” Jensen cries out, reaching behind himself to draw Jeff back in.

Jeff holds him down with one hand, soothes along his sweaty spine with the other. “Shh,” he says, his voice as calm as he can maintain it in his current state of passion. “What, do you need, _mon Coeur_?”

Jensen’s head is turned, almost painfully, to the side now, looking up and back toward his lover, and he groans. But instead of words, Jensen simply reaches for him, and Jeff accommodates by leaning forward to meet his lover’s searching hand. Two simple gestures are all it takes to convey his needs. Jensen rubs two fingers along Jeff’s cheek and down his chin, and then taps the same two digits against his mouth. When Jeff opens to allow him entry, he tugs on his tongue and once again pushes his hips against Jeff’s restraining hand. After that, Jensen drops back into place, leaving it to Jeff to put the pieces together.

_God!_ Jeff thinks. It is a delicious puzzle he is more than happy to solve. The reward is always unbelievable and never actually deserved.

“Shh,” he says, again spreading those luscious globes with his thumbs and lowering his face to rub his scruffy cheek against the freshly sensitized skin. He presses his tongue against the tight opening, not penetrating, not yet, and then rubs his other cheek against the opposite side. “Just enjoy, _mon Coeur_. I’ve got you.”

Jensen has already given in to him, Jeff can feel it; so he delves in just below the rim to reach that level of nerves that will set his lover off anew. But once again, Jensen surprises him, while his moan is throaty, certainly loud enough to wake anyone on this wing—if anyone else was actually still in occupancy—he makes only the tiniest of motions in response. If anything, he is at his most docile, physically, since Jeff removed him from the bath.

Jeffrey lifts his head so that his lips brush the skin of those luscious, muscular globes. “Mmm, now I know,” he says, rubbing his chin against that lovely pink pucker much more roughly than he would have preferred before dipping back down and delving deeply within.

Jensen’s hips lift up to meet him, and this time Jeff does not restrain them. But after a moment or two, Jeffrey backs away to puff a breath against the inviting, spit-slicked hole. “Now you are mine.”

Jensen reaches behind him again, pressing Jeff’s head back into position and thrusting his hips up to meet him. “I was already yours!”

The words inflame Jeffrey, set him afire with a passion no lover, male or female, has ever accomplished in the past, and he doesn’t believe it to be the words alone. It is the man below him that inspires this hunger within him. Every time. He would have killed a boar with his bare hands, slung it across his shoulders, and thrown it at Jensen’s feet, if he truly thought it would have been a worthy offering.

He growls just seconds before sinking his teeth into one of those fine, firm globes—not deep enough to break skin, just enough to bruise and draw another lovely moan from between the lips of his lover—before returning to his task. “I want you to come,” he murmurs, too deeply engrossed in his lover’s crevice to say much more than, “On my tongue.”

Jensen lets out one long, low moan in response, but doesn’t shift his hips or reach for his cock. Instead, he relaxes into the pillows and the duvet, as if accepting the fate Jeff has assigned him.

“That’s it,” Jeff says, grinning as he makes a point with his tongue and stabs it into that tight furl. No matter how many times he has loosened that enticing entrance, it tightens up again—just for his pleasure, Jeff is certain of it. Sometimes he imagines breaching it with his entire hand, but as yet, he hasn’t attempted it. Right now, all he wants is his partner’s pleasure, his cries of passion, his spilt seed.

Jeff releases one luscious cheek and nuzzles into the narrowed crease, rubbing his beard back and forth as he buries deeper, tasting further, humming. He resists smiling when Jensen’s hips begin to match his efforts again—it would pull him away from his task and the delicious taste of his lover—and instead delves deeper, tonguing hard over and over before pulling back and licking gently around the puffy, pink rim.

“Come on, baby,” Jeff says, stabbing deeply again. “Come on.”

Jensen is pushing back against his face brazenly now. He has managed to lift up on hands and knees, ignoring the cushion Jeff so carefully placed for his comfort, and rutting like a bitch, moaning and begging, “ _Ta langue, ta langue_!”

Jeff has both hands firmly on Jensen’s hips. He isn’t trying to keep him still, he rather enjoys his lover’s enthusiasm. He is simply trying to avoid injury. Jeffrey spreads those delightful cheeks again, seals his lips around the loosening hole and sucks.

“Ahhh!” Jensen cries, tossing his head back before freezing in place with his ass firmly pressed against Jeff’s face. “ _Touche-moi, amour, s’il te plaît! Touche-moi!_ ” He ends on a forlorn moan, his head dropping forward, but his hole never losing contact with Jeff’s tongue.

It is an easy request to grant. Jeff keeps one hand steady on his lover’s hip, and reaches around with the other to trace a finger along the silky smooth skin of his lover’s erection as it juts upward toward his belly and bounces with every thrust. Jeff takes it in hand. Pure bliss.

He rubs across the slit and drags a few of the drops that have oozed out down along the shaft to aid in his endeavor. Jensen moans in appreciation, pushing back against his tongue, forward into his hand: begging with his body for more.

But Jeff always wants what is best for his lover, so he abandons Jensen’s cock for a moment to fumble across the tabletop in search of the phial he purposely placed there earlier. This wasn’t its expressed intent—not when he pulled it from Jensen’s travel bag earlier—but it is a good purpose, one he is pleased to have thought of in advance, even if he hadn’t.

He pulls the stopper out by feel and tilts it onto its side with a thumb and two fingers, capturing a trickle of oil in the well of his hand before replacing the phial on the table. It isn’t much, but it will be enough.

Jeff reaches back around to his lover’s engorged cock, stroking it to again match the motions of his tongue. He is certain he should be tiring in effort by now, but the _sounds_ …God! The sounds Jensen makes keep him not only going, but vibrant, on edge, _alive_.

“ _Oui!_ Yes!” Jensen sings. He is rocking between Jeff’s skilled tongue and his hand. “ _Plus, mon Coeur! Plus!_ ”

Jeff probes deeper, hums louder, strokes faster with a twist at the crown, all to offer the “more” his lover is begging for. He groans as Jensen thrashes wildly against him and precome coats Jeff’s greedy fingers. “Come on,” Jeff coaxes, lifting away from his task for only a moment of encouragement. He digs his thumbnail into Jensen’s slit for emphasis before resuming his rhythm.

“Give it to me,” Jeff whispers against his hole.

Three stutters into Jeff’s hand—that’s Jensen’s tell—and Jeff groans right along with him as the younger man shudders and cries out. Explodes. It’s beautiful. Come is oozing over his fingers, and Jensen’s clenching hole is desperately trying to grab hold of his tongue and draw it in further. Jensen doesn’t give in to his pleasure easily, but when he does, he does so completely, and allows it to flow through every pore.

Jensen collapses back into the pillows, his ass held in the air by Jeffrey’s strength alone. Jeff keeps stroking and licking until Jensen is moaning and begging for mercy. It is another wicked pleasure Jeff tries to indulge himself in as often as possible.

When Jensen hisses, finally trying to pull away from Jeff’s touch, it’s time, and Jeff puts both hands back on Jensen’s hips, rolling him over onto his back.

It won’t take long, but Jeff isn’t finished yet. He glides along Jensen’s smooth, sweat-slicked, and come-covered body, and turns the younger man’s head with a firm hand. Jensen moves easily with the touch, baring his neck to his lover, and Jeff steals only a moment to glance up and see those half-closed lids and parted lips. Jeff can hear Jensen's panted, sated breaths, feel the rapid thunder in his chest, and grins, even as he turns to slide his lips along Jensen's lovely offering.

He licks a subtle trail from ear to shoulder, and stops at each point that draws a groan or a gasp from his slowly reawakening lover. Jeff pulls the delicate flesh into his mouth and bites down. Not hard, just enough to leave his mark and move on to the next tasty morsel along that silky column.

Jeff is lying fully against him, his erection pressing into the join of Jensen’s hip, but he doesn’t press. He waits for a sign that Jensen wants more. He finishes decorating Jensen’s neck and pulls back enough to see his work before moving lower. It is always such a pleasure to rub against Jensen’s smooth chest, and for a moment, he reminds himself about the crème, the one he brought along from his last trip to Marseilles. He has to remember to apply it to all that freshly stripped skin before he falls asleep tonight. He doesn’t want his lover raw and chafed in the morning.

Jeff’s tongue circles a nub, his lips seal around it and he sucks it into an even firmer erection. Jensen is moaning with every exhalation now, and beginning to mumble. Even his hips have taken up a rhythm of their own again. His back arches up to keep contact with Jeff’s lips as the older man pulls away, trailing his tongue across his lover’s chest, to pay equal homage to the other tan nipple.

“ _Baise-moi_ ,” Jensen whispers, reaching for Jeff’s head and dragging his furry chin all the way back to his lips. “ _Baise-moi_ , Jeff,” he begs between sloppy kisses. His body is vibrating with need again, and Jeff smiles to himself as he feels the swell of Jensen’s renewed erection press against his thigh.

“Yes,” Jeff growls. “God! I will fuck you. Today, tomorrow, every day, I will fuck you!”

He reaches over to the table for the oil, and doesn’t bother to do more than tip it on its side, holding his fingers beneath to capture the drops. It shouldn’t take much, he licked Jensen open and relaxed already, so if the rest of the phial spills on the Milanese rug, he will replace both on his next trip there.

It only takes a tap to have Jensen spread wide, and Jeff slips two slick fingers in easily. He moves them about perfunctorily, spreading the oil and stretching just a bit. Neither of them wants much more than that, he knows from experience. And before Jensen can even regret their loss, Jeff replaces them with his cock.

He doesn’t tease or nudge at this point, he simply holds the base firmly, and guides it steadily in until he is completely sheathed. It is the first moment since he lifted the razor earlier in the evening that his tension has eased.

“Ahh! _Oui_ , Jeff! _Oui!_ ” Jensen cries out, bucking up to meet him. He is a vociferous lover, and Jeff appreciates every sound, listens carefully, and plays his lover like the fine instrument he is. Jeff pulls out and thrusts back in, adjusting his angle until he hears just what he wants: “ _Là-bas!_ ”

“There?” Jeff repeats, staring down at the younger man and thrusting again.

“ _Oui_ ,” Jensen gasps, throwing his hands over his head and surrendering his body. “ _Là-bas_.”

Jeff lifts his lover’s legs up, grasping them behind the knees, and letting Jensen’s calves rest against his shoulders. He misses the contact with Jensen’s chest, but the feel of his smooth legs, and the moans he elicits when he thrusts harder and faster at the new angle are worth it.

Jensen’s fully erect again, if the penetration diminished it, even momentarily, Jeff can’t tell, and he reaches down to stroke it. He could ask Jensen to do it—he loves to watch as those graceful fingers glide up and down—but it’s too much to ask of his lover right now, he knows it. So instead, he speeds up his rhythm and leans forward, pushing Jensen’s legs closer to his chest and deepening his strokes.

“Jeff,” Jensen pants, his hips rising to meet his lover. “There…I’m there!

And as Jensen spills again, this time clenching around Jeff’s cock, he takes his lover over the edge with him. Jeff lets Jensen’s legs fall and grinds in deep, growling as he shudders to completion.

Jeff rolls to the side, not losing contact, but relieving Jensen of his weight. In a minute, he tells himself. In a minute he will get up, get a fresh cloth to wash his lover. He will roll him gently from side to side, trying not to wake him as he removes the duvet and lays his lover out on the fine linens beneath. And he will rub the Crème Simon into Jensen’s skin.

He will, he thinks as he allows his eyes to close for a moment. He never forgets.

###

“Gentlemen,” Jeff says, affixing his signature to the last of a stack of documents and standing to walk around the table, once again shaking hands with Lammot and Pierre Samuel du Pont, and of course, with Jensen Péreire, just as he had done when they entered his library several hours ago. He gives them the trademark Morgan smile. “I think we have accomplished a great deal this afternoon.”

With Jensen’s hand still in his, his expression turns into a pensive moue, “And Monsieur Péreire, forgive the chill in my library, perhaps if I had been more thoughtful, a fire could have been started in advance and you would have been more comfortable in our negotiations.”

Jensen has played these games with Jeffrey far too long to be caught off guard so easily. Even as the other three men had shed their frock coats and loosened their ties with their first round of Hennessey, Jensen remained fully dressed. Well, with a glass of Dom Pérignon in hand, Jensen had at least deemed to doff his top hat.

“Do not consider it a concern, Mister Morgan,” Jensen tips his head in courtesy. “I am quite comfortable as I am.”

“Still,” Jeff continues, pointing toward the inkwells on the table, and back toward Jensen’s burgundy frock coat, its sleeves fitted to the perfect length at his wrists. “I would have hated to see you damage such a fine garment.”

Jensen pulls his hand away before their continued contact affects him or draws unwanted attention from the other two men in the room. “Again,” He smiles, “I am quite adept at affixing my signature, clothed and all.”

The du Pont’s both chuckle as they straighten cravats, unroll sleeves, don coats, and snuff out cigars. “So what comes next, JD?” Samuel Pierre asks. He is always the one to lead.

“Next,” Jensen says, donning his top hat and turning to face the other men, answering in Jeff’s stead. “We create an empire, take your industry, Morgan financing, and the Péreire influence to France, and we defeat the Monarchists once again. Next, we take capitalism to France.”

The du Pont’s nod in response, and step out of the library to be escorted out by the staff. Jeff puts a hand on the back of Jensen’s neck, holding him back. The thick oak door closes, and they are alone again.

“See?” Jeff pulls him close and rumbles in his ear. “I gave you the world. What are you going to give me?”

Jensen turns around, again removing his hat, but this time going further. He takes off his coat, and then his silk cravat, revealing Jeff’s marks—each one exactly where Jeff remembers placing it—and leaning into his lover.

“You already have what you want,” he says, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, watching Jeff’s eyes track his progress. He pulls it open to reveal his smooth chest and lets it slip down his shoulders. “You have me.”


End file.
